


Wouldn't It Be Nice

by isyotm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Teen Romance, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyotm/pseuds/isyotm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur acknowledges they're a little young to be getting married, but he wishes they didn't have to wait so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/35615.html?thread=38592031#t38592031) at Kink Me! Merlin #35.
> 
> Warnings for hopelessly American slang and gratuitous amounts of fluff.
> 
> (Title and summary are from/references to that Beach Boys song. Come on, it totally fits.)

Arthur loves Merlin. He knows he’s not very good at showing it sometimes, especially with how much he teases him (“My, what great big ears you have, Merlin. It’s such a shame they don’t do anything to improve your hearing”), but he does love him. There is a space in his heart that belongs solely to Merlin, a place where he’s catalogued all the silly, strange things that Merlin does (tap his mechanical pencils twice against the desk before using them and look at each side of a cookie before he decides where he’s going to bite into it) or says (“But what if aliens are allergic to oxygen and that’s why no one’s ever seen one?” “What on earth are you talking about?” “Nothing on _earth_ , Arthur, that’s the _point_ ”), where he’s written down the hex-triplet color codes for Merlin’s eyes and hair (there’s actually quite a few, depending on the lighting or Merlin’s mood), where he can go to remember what it feels like to hug Merlin or feel his skin underneath his fingertips (soft but surprisingly firm and absolutely, unbearably perfect) and what Merlin smells like (there was the traditional “earthy” and “masculine” but underneath it all something spicy and refreshingly minty and not-quite-dangerous that he had to make up a word for).

And being in love is wonderful. He’s found himself humming pop songs on the radio and enjoying stupid romcoms and TV shows much more than he thought he ever could because he finally _understands_ what they’ve been going on about forever and ever, that flying-falling-floating feeling that could be the best or worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He loves being in love almost as much as he loves the fact that it’s _Merlin_ he’s in love with: Merlin who is selfless and brave and true, Merlin who is kind and thoughtful and hilarious, Merlin who looks at him like he’s the sun and stars and sky and makes him feel like every mistake he’s ever made is something he can be proud of (“They make you _you_ , Arthur. And, yes, sometimes you can be a prat, but sometimes you can be really amazing, you know?”) rather than something to hide away and pretend it never existed.

But it scares the hell out of him, because he and Merlin are only 17 and how can this possibly last when Arthur still lives in his father’s house and mostly spends his father’s money and doesn’t even know what he wants to be when he grows up? How can this last when Merlin is so very _Merlin_ and he’s just Arthur?

“Arthur? Are you alright?”

“What?”

Merlin gives him a weird look. “I asked if you were thirsty. And then you kind of got really quiet and now you’re mowing the lawn.” He stares pointedly at Arthur’s hand, which is ripping out blades of grass and tearing them to shreds.

“Oh. And, uh, I’m fine.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure, Captain Space Cadet?”

“ _Merlin_ , you can’t be a captain and a space cadet—”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Oh god, spare me.”

“Cadets _obviously_ rank lower than—”

Merlin covers his ears (Arthur bites back a smile at how the tips of them poke out over the edges of Merlin’s long, perfect fingers) and starts saying “La-la-la-la!” at the top of his lungs.

“You’re being unbelievably childish—”

“You’re being boring. La-la-la-la-la—”

“Merlin! Pendragon!”

Arthur’s heart stutters in his chest. _Merlin Pendragon._ He feels like one of those characters in the stupid romcoms he’s been watching ( _not_ watching. Late at night. When no one is home and therefore no one has any proof that this may or may not have happened. Repeatedly) who scrawls their name and their “beloved’s” (their word, not his) name all over notebooks and in diaries and…

_Merlin Pendragon._ He really likes the sound of that.

He wonders if Merlin would also like how that sounds.

“Did we lose you, Princess?” Gwaine asks, clapping him solidly on the back and nearly sending him sprawling in the grass.

“He’s been out of it all day,” Merlin replies.

Gwaine nods and stage-whispers, “It must be that time of the month.”

Merlin agrees with a very solemn look on his face.

“Ha-ha, you two, very funny.”

* * *

 

It plays on repeat in his head all afternoon.

_Merlin Pendragon._

He tries it the other way around, but _Arthur Emrys_ has too many vowels and it feels like he’s choking on peanut butter; _Merlin Pendragon_ rolls off the tongue. It sounds almost elegant.

He snorts. Merlin. Elegant. Right.

He doodles _MP_ on the side of his science notes before hastily erasing it, ripping the paper in the process. _God_ , he’s really losing it. It’s not like he and Merlin are getting _married_ anytime soon.

He drops his pencil and it rolls off his desk, dropping to the ground with a loud clicking noise. Leon gives him a look and then gives him another, more concerned one when he doesn’t even move to pick it up.

Married. To Merlin.

A gooey, fluttery feeling starts in his stomach and rushes to every part of his body, from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair. His face heats up and he quickly bends over to pick up his pencil and then goes back to staring resolutely at his desk.

He’s never thought about it before, but it’s like his brain has been _waiting_ for this moment, because suddenly the images rush through him: Waking up next to Merlin, watching as his hair reenters the earth’s gravitational field with each successive cup of coffee; spending the day lazing about the house in nothing but pajamas; challenging each other to thumb wars or arm wrestling matches for the last slice of pizza or last bite of dessert; coming home to Merlin and falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, the smell of Merlin and the sound of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling him to sleep.

The most surprising part is how his chest _aches_ with how much he wantsthis, _needs_ this, and the fact that he doesn’t have it, can’t have it _right now_ makes him feel unbelievably lost and lonely.

He really does love Merlin. He thought he did, but some part of him always thought “Maybe you’re just in the honeymoon phase still,” but one month turned into two into six into a year and now it’s been two years and he still feels exactly the same and now this with the names and marriage and oh god. _Marriage._ He tries to imagine Merlin in a tuxedo, hair brushed as flat as it will go, beaming at him in front of an altar, eyes bluer than the clear spring sky (why _spring_? It’s disturbing that he’s already picked a season) above them, and he almost passes out.

He’s so, so screwed.

* * *

 

He stares at Merlin’s fingers the entire drive home. Well, maybe not the _entire_ drive, because he’s the one behind the wheel and they manage not to get into any accidents, but the only thing he can think about is the sight of Merlin’s hands splayed across the dark fabric of his uniform pants, fingers tapping along to the song on the radio.

He’s never seen Merlin wear any jewelry. _If I gave you a ring, would you wear it?_

Would it be strange? Obvious? A ring is a significant gift. Two years is a significant period of time. Arthur is a significantly serious person.

_If I asked you to marry me, would you?_

No. They’re 17. That’s completely crazy. He’s pretty sure not even people in backwoods towns who have nothing better to do than bear children get married at 17.

“Merlin,” he begins, voice rough.

“Hmm?”

“What do you… What do you think of jewelry?”

Merlin’s eyebrows crinkle with confusion. “It’s…okay?” His face relaxes as he thinks of something pleasant. “I like it on you, especially your thumb ring.”

“My—?” He looks at the silver band around his finger, the one that his father gave him when he turned 15.

_“This was mine and my father’s before me and his father’s before him. It’s time I gave it to you._

_“You’re a man now, Arthur. Your actions have consequences. Life is no longer for frivolous dalliances. I hope that this gift will remind you of that.”_

He pulls to a stop in his driveway and takes the ring off, turning it over in his fingers.

“Would you… If I gave it to you…?” He makes the mistake of looking at Merlin, whose eyes are so wide they seem in danger of popping out of his skull.

“Never mind,” he says gruffly, feeling his face heat up as he slips the ring back on.

“No, tell me.” Merlin reaches for his hand.

He really does love Merlin’s fingers.

“I… If you…” Oh god, what are _words_? He remembers all of the public speaking classes his father made him take so that he would be _“loquacious, thoughtful, and well-spoken. A leader of men. That’s what it means to be a Pendragon,”_ but he can’t stop thinking about Merlin in a tuxedo, Merlin’s feet tucked under his as they watch a truly horrendous movie that Merlin picked out and Arthur agreed to because he loves watching the truly horrendous movies that Merlin likes to pick, Merlin sleepily stealing sips from Arthur’s coffee cup in the morning because he’s too tired to pour his own.

“Arthur?”

“I… Not _now_ but… would you…” He takes a deep breath. “Merlin,” he says to the center console.

“ _Yes_ , Arthur, I didn’t go anywhere.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Merlin ends the words with an upward inflection, obviously not quite sure where this is going.

“I love you…v-very much.”

Merlin turns pink and stutters, “Y-yeah, me—me too.”

“And… I would like… I would like it very much to… If we… married.”

“M- _marr_ —?”

“Not right now, obviously,” Arthur adds quickly. “But in the future. When you’re saving the world and using your medical degree to ignore borders and political unrest—”

“For the last time, it’s called Doctors Without Borders. At this point I really think you’re doing this on purpose—”

“And I’m doing…whatever it is I want to do. Do you think that you’d still… that there’d be… room for…me? Us?”

The car is very quiet, the only sound birds squawking as the autumn sun sets.

“Of course.”

Merlin’s voice is so quiet, Arthur almost doesn’t hear him.

“Wh-what?”

“I said of _course_ , you idiot.” Merlin leans across the seats and pulls him into a tight hug.

(Another wonderful thing about Merlin’s hugs is how he holds Arthur like he never wants to let go, like he can’t bear to waste a second not touching Arthur, not holding him, not pressed close to him.)

“There’s always room for you and for us.” It’s Merlin’s turn to shyly look away and he chooses the steering wheel as his focal point. “I’ve never… When I met you, it felt like I’d found something I was missing. Like I was never _really happy_ until I met you. It’d be stupid to let you go.” He grins up at Arthur, but his face is blotchy and red and Arthur knows he’s on the verge of some big emotional outburst that he’ll be teased relentlessly for when they’re no longer wearing their hearts on their sleeves (“Such a _girl_ , Merlin”). “You’re stuck with me.”

Arthur’s smile feels like it’s going to split his face. “You know, that actually doesn’t seem so bad. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of mini epilogue (courtesy of my friend/beta):
> 
> [10/2/2013 12:00:21 PM] bibi: wow ok so that merthur thing was fluffy as fuck  
> [10/2/2013 12:01:35 PM] bibi: i can just see merlin doing Doctors Without Borders, treating someone in the middle east and then lookinf down at his hand to see Arthur's ring and then smiling like an idiot  
> [10/2/2013 12:01:36 PM] bibi: ok  
> [10/2/2013 12:01:45 PM] bibi: i think i made it fluffier  
> [10/2/2013 12:01:48 PM] bibi: kill me now


End file.
